were the most exciting journey she’d taken in some time. Steven enjoyed himself watching her for a while before he forced himself back to business.
“Tell me about Keith Erskin,” he said as the farmland, dusted with snow, flowed past, along with low, tree-covered hills. “The man you are purported to have married. Is he likely to cause trouble over this?”
Rose shook her head, looking neither guilty nor embarrassed. “He was a childhood friend, later a beau.” Her cheeks went pink. “We were caught kissing at a ball when I was eighteen. He was encouraged to propose to me, but I could see his heart wasn’t in it, poor lad. The prospect of marrying at eighteen and settling down dismayed him greatly. So I refused him. This gave me the reputation of being a very fast young lady indeed, and my father took me away to Edinburgh.” She looked out the window, her gaze going remote. “In retrospect, perhaps we ought to have married, but we were young and full of stubborn dreams. We each were determined to see the world, I remember, but neither of us has left the British Isles as far as I know.” She gave a short laugh. “We might have had an ordinary life, in an ordinary town, and I’d not be followed about whenever I step out of doors.”
Steven couldn’t stop his smile, which rose up inside him like a light. “You were never made for ordinary, Rosie. There’s nothing ordinary about you and never will be.”
She flushed, which made her look even more like an exotic siren trapped in the stiff clothing of a less enlightened age. “You aren’t so ordinary yourself,” she said.
“True.” Steven tried to ignore the excitement of having that lovely green gaze on him. He’d left the hotel last night to do quite a bit of drinking before he’d been able to return, precisely to forget that look. Hadn’t worked. “I had a strange upbringing—raised by my oldest brother, Patrick, who has twenty years on me. I was the spoiled youngest child, and it led me into a lot of trouble. Made me think there was nothing I couldn’t do.”
Her interest warmed his blood. “Such as?”
“Tales for another time, dear lady. We’re arriving.”
The train had slowed, chugging its way into a station. The maid hurried back in to help Rose, who tried to hide her disappointment that their conversation had ended so abruptly.
They descended into cold. Because Steven hadn’t written or telegraphed that they were coming—no sense in putting Albert on guard—they had to hire a conveyance to take them to the house. Wasn’t difficult to find, because every man, woman, and child in the village of Sittford spied Rose emerging from the train and mobbed her.
“Have you come back to live here?” a young man in a blacksmith’s apron asked. “Say you have, Your Grace.”
Another was a woman who’d come out of the post office and shop. “Please talk some sense into that stepson of yours, Your Grace. The house has bought my goods for fifty years—now he’s sending to a cheap firm in London . . .”
“You’re a tart and always will be. You’ll never be the real duchess ’round here.
She
were a lady.” The last was from an older woman who stood in her front garden opposite the station, her hands wrapped around a cane. A few other women stood near her, nodding agreement.
“Ignore them,” Steven said under his breath as he handed Rose up into a dogcart, the only vehicle available.
“She’s been saying such things since the first time I arrived.” Rose gave the elderly woman a gracious nod, which the woman and her cronies returned with sullen glares. “Her husband treats her poorly—Charles always had trouble with him. I’ll speak to His Grace, Mrs. Harrison,” she called to the woman who ran the shop. “As soon as he lifts himself from the floor after the shock of seeing me back here. Drive on, Mr. Gains.”
A dozen or so children followed after the cart, waving and yelling, clearly curious about Steven. They
Learning to Kill: Stories